Inked
by Author of Sin
Summary: Arthur Kirkland, a popular tattoo artist, is met with irony when an over-romanticized Frenchman opens a florist shop right next to his tattoo parlour. At first, the two struggle to find common grounds, but eventually they come to realisation of the company in one another. [FrUK, Human!AU, Smut]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: The idea of this fanfic was inspired by Tumblr user's **_**killer—ink**_** text post.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>It wasn't like Arthur Kirkland <em>hated<em> his customers… he simply hated their fucking indecisive minds. Like, seriously, who changes their mind just a _minute_ before they're about to get a tattoo – a tattoo that'll be etched into your skin permanently – only just to leave it up to the tattoo artist to decide for them in the end? It was annoying as hell. Again, it wasn't like Arthur Kirkland hated his customers… or his job – he loved his job, in fact, and his store – he just hated the cons. He was stressed out too much as it was.

"Well, I mean… I want it to look pretty badass, you know?" the customer said, having Arthur nod for the 50th time already this morning. "But I don't know… how…"

"How about this: let me just free draw on your arm, and if you like it, I'll ink it," Arthur suggested, the stranger looking at him with a gentle gaze, "Yeah?"

"Yeah, sure, okay," with that, the two moved over to Arthur's workplace – where he created living art on people's bodies. _Punk bodies_, usually. Only once in a blue moon an extremely high-class, snobby person came in asking for a tattoo. Even if they did, it was always some Chinese letters, the names of their children, or a flower. Flowers annoyed the shit out of him.

"So, tell me: what made you want to get this sort of tattoo?" Arthur asked, trying to make conversation. He liked silence – _loved_ it, in fact – but he had to be courteous to his customer and to keep his reputation up. That's how he survived. "Got a thing for dragons?"

"Mm… yeah, I guess you can say that," the stranger replied, the Englishman noticing goose bumps beginning to litter his somewhat tanned skin – as if he was not used to the cold of Arthur's markers drawing upon his flesh. That or it could have been the air-conditioning. "My dad and I loved dragons, but he passed away when I hit high school. I know it sounds cliché, but I wanted something that I could remember him by – not something like… a will, or anything, something that'd be with me forever."

"Something that won't break," Arthur added on, finally finishing his rough sketch upon the other's arm before moving his seat back to look upon his creation. "I get it. A lot of people get tattoos for those reasons. It's… it's a sweet thing."

"So what'd you get that for?" the man asked, pointing at a small and _terribly _done tattoo upon Arthur's right wrist, it just poking out from the black, fingerless gloves he wore at work. "What… is it, exactly?"

"A pint," the blond replied, shaking his head before standing up and bringing the hand mirror around to show the reflection of the customer's arm. "I was drunk, I had my tools and my stupid brothers thought it'd be funny to convince me to tattoo a pint on my wrist," he continued, before shrugging and changing the subject, "Well, what do you think?"

"I like it—" the customer was cut off when a loud scream erupted from outside, followed by the sound of a few crashing items, just at the front of the shop. Placing the hand mirror down, Arthur ordered for the customer to stay at his spot whilst he checked what all the commotion was about in such a quiet suburb of this city.

"What are _you_ doing?!" a heavy accent of some sort yelled, and through the window of his shop Arthur could see a blond man wearing a white dress shirt that was almost soaked through – with what, exactly? – whilst he yelled at another man that was helping him move some things. The Englishman looked up. It wasn't raining. Okay. So he wasn't wet with rain water. Was it _sweat?_ "Honestly! I'm not one to get angry so easily but when you are spilling things on me and making everything much harder than it needs to be, it _pisses_ me off!"

"Is everything alright out here?" Arthur asked as he finally opened the front door of his shop and stepped outside. The two strangers turned to look at him, as a third jumped out of a… moving truck, it seemed. _Was he a new neighbour? _

"Just fine, merci," the now-obvious-Frenchman said, turning away to most likely yell a few things at the two movers. However, he stopped, and slowly turned back around to look at Arthur again. "You… you are quite beautiful."

"Don't mistaken me for some kind of lady," Arthur replied, offended with that 'compliment'. What man would be flattered with being called _beautiful? _"…because, if you hadn't realised, I'm not."

"You know, one is supposed to thank another for the compliment," the other blond said, almost equally as rude as Arthur. He seemed more… delicate, though. "Is this your shop? You look you'd own something like that."

Arthur smirked. _Fuck yeah. _His tattoo parlour was his pride and joy.

"Yep, why? Want to get inked?"

The Frenchman stepped back as if he was _appalled_ with that question, before replying, "Of course not! Why would someone want to do that to themselves? Tattoos are ugly."

"They're not ugly, they're works of art," Arthur rebutted, his hands clenching into fists. _Just who did this guy think he was? _"They take time and effort and _a lot_ of trust."

"And a lot of _money_," the other blond said bluntly. _It was true._ But it was worth it. "Paintings and photographs and nature are true art."

"Tch, what's it to you? Honestly, why'd I even come the fuck out?"

"Ask yourself that question, monsieur, I was simply minding my own business."

"Yeah, well, you were being way too fucking loud. I heard you from inside."

"And that is your problem, not mine."

Arthur shook his head. He felt like punching the dick. Or punch him in the dick. Either way worked in this case, really.

"Wait, so, are these two working for you?"

"They are helping me move in, if that's what you're asking, then yes," the Frenchman said, and suddenly Arthur's world slowed down. _What did that mean? _He was simply just going to live in the room of the apartment building, right? He wasn't taking over the old shop that was there, is he? Oh God, what sort of shop would he run? _An adult shop? _

Actually, that didn't sound too bad.

"What… what are you…? Are you taking over the shop?" Arthur asked as the other began to bark orders at the others. He did it with a softer tone of his voice this time, though, and suddenly he didn't seem as dick-ish when he _was_ yelling at them. The blond still didn't like him, though. First impressions go a _looong_ way. But it seemed that he'd be living beside the other for a long time, too.

"Désolé," the other said, turning around to face Arthur once more. What's this? _Manners? _"Oui, I am. I'll be opening a florist shop."

Suddenly, Arthur felt as if the other was toying with him. _A florist shop… beside his tattoo parlour?_ Wouldn't he have chosen a more, he didn't know, _family-friendly_ place? This wasn't exactly where kids ran around playing kick the can.

"Wait, what? Are you being serious?"

"Does it bother you?"

"W-Well, no…," he started, but then decided that in fact, _yes_, it did bother him, "…yes. Why couldn't you have chosen someplace else?"

"There was no place else."

"Ugh, just don't be annoying like the last person that owned that building."

"It depends, really, about how easily annoyed you can get," the other said, obviously _teasing_ him with a smirk upon his lips. So, Arthur simply glared, before replying, "I can get _very_ annoyed _very_ easily."

The two stared at each other for a moment, as if the first one to look away lost. But, both their attentions were torn away when Arthur's customer stepped outside and the Frenchman's helpers approached him once more, calling for them.

"I said to just place it in the foyer, nowhere fancy," the other blond told his people. "I can do the rest myself."

"Sorry about that, I'll be with you soon," Arthur said to his.

And so, after that, they both turned to look back at each other.

"_Frog_," Arthur cursed, causing laughter from the Frenchman as he turned on his heels and began making his way back to his parlour. As he stalked to his store, the other man erupted with, "What is that supposed to mean? Is that some sort of French joke!? What shall I call you? _Sherlock Holmes?_"

"Arthur Kirkland!" the blond yelled back, stopping at the front door before turning around momentarily. "You shall call me Arthur Kirkland."

"Then, you won't call me frog, Arthur Kirkland. You'll call me Francis Bonnefoy."

"Not happening," he said, before finally entering his store once more to attend to his customer. However, just as he entered, he yelled loud enough so Francis would hear him, "Welcome to England, _frog._"

All that he heard in response was laughter from Francis Bonnefoy.

_Fucker._

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><p><strong>AN: I'll try get the next chapter published ASAP. ^^ **

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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wow, thank you so much for the positive reviews everyone! ^^ Every single one of them really made me want to do well on this story, so hopefully I'll live up to your expectations. (-: **

**If you feel like I do something wrong or anything, feel free to constructively criticise me on my writing.**

**Thank you so much for reading!**

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><p>What… what was he<em> doing? <em>Arthur thought. The Englishman was currently in his bedroom, but outside of his window he had a full view of Francis' living room – only if he decided to leave his curtains open, that is. That was _one_ liability of having apartment/store buildings so close to each other: there was usually no privacy. Sadly, most of the city was built like that, _even in the suburbs_.

"Ce soir nos deux corps se mêlent," a French singer sang in an almost _angelic_ voice, obviously from Francis' music speakers. "Fier d'une étreinte parfait…"

Whilst his music played _loudly_, Arthur watched as Francis was unpacking his things. But, instead of putting everything away as soon as he retrieved them, he sat down and looked as if he was reminiscing. His green eyes, thickened with blond eyelashes, narrowed as the Frenchman slowly raised a hand to his face, hunching his shoulders as if he was _crying._ Was he home sick already?

That's when Arthur began to feel a little bad on the inside. He probably wasn't helping with Francis' 'situation' when he was being an unfriendly neighbour. Seriously though, the Englishman wanted nothing to do with the other. He just wanted to focus on his life and let the other focus on his, but… they _were_ neighbours. In a way, it's practically as if they were living with each other.

Maybe… Maybe Arthur could cook something up for him – like a home warming gift – or a greeting from the neighbour. For now, it may be the best or worst idea to just go over there, but the blond's guts were telling him to – just for the sake of Francis… or his own sake, most likely.

So, with that thought in his mind, Arthur grumbled loudly and moved to his drawers to pull a black, slightly over-sized sweater out and dress himself in it. After slipping on some boat shoes, leaving his pale legs – one fully tattooed, the other not – exposed as he wore pink, kitty boxers, Arthur stepped outside of his apartment, finding no need to lock it as he planned to be back as soon as possible, before making his way towards the front door of Francis' own flat. He stood there for a moment, trying to rehearse what he was planning to say – although… he had no idea what would be appropriate or not. So, deciding this was just a waste of time, he turned to return home, only to have the door open anyways.

"What are you doing?" that… _French accent_ asked. "Do you need something?"

"Francis!" Arthur exclaimed a little embarrassingly, turning on his heels once more to face the other male that was standing at the threshold of his front door. "I… uh…"

"It's late, you should be in bed," Francis stated, earning a frown from Arthur. It was only 12:34am. Plus, he didn't open his shop until 10am. Though… he does get working about 2 hours prior opening, simply making sure his ink is stocked, tools disinfected, etc. Still, that didn't mean he could treat Arthur as if he was some _child._

"W-Well, I can't sleep with your music so loud. Turn it off!"

He watched as Francis repeated his action of moving a hand to his face and face palming himself. But it wasn't a sort of "are you serious?" face palm, it was more of a "why me?" face palm. He moved his hand back down by his side though, to instead look at Arthur tiredly.

"So you came here just to complain?"

"No, that wasn't my initial intention," Arthur mumbled, without really thinking what he was saying and sort of wanting to take that back. "Well, no—yeah, it was, _frog._"

"So what _was_ your initial intention, then?"

"I told you."

"No, you didn't. You lied."

_Smart-fucking-ass. _

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," the Englishman then finally confessed, even though it was a dire hit to his pride. "I mean, it isn't like I actually _care_ for you, it's just a… uh… humane thing to make sure one's new neighbour is okay. I think. I'm a gentleman. Okay?"

"No, you're a punk."

"And a punk can't be a gentleman?"

"Touché," Francis replied, smirking a little. Arthur noticed his blue eyes no longer look at his own hazel eyes. Instead, they took in the sight of his skinny, pale legs. That's when his smirk soon faded when he noticed the full leg tattoo. Well, it wasn't _one_ tattoo; it was a compilation of tattoos that was added onto the canvas of his upper thigh down to his ankle, all done over numerous years… and Arthur _loved_ them. The dark colours of black, blue and red contradicted against his pale skin, and that's what made the Englishman so eager to be half naked a lot – at home, of course.

Oddly enough, most of them didn't have a significant meaning – Arthur just liked the appearance of them. A few did, however, but it wasn't like he'd share his story with anyone, though.

"I still don't understand tattoos," Francis mumbled, bringing his hand up to rub at the fine hairs that were visible along his jawline. That's when the Arthur frowned. He was about to open his mouth to probably argue against the other, but he was cut off when a sudden chill ran down his back, automatically wrapping his hands around to hug himself.

"Why don't you come in?" the Frenchman asked, obviously noticing the other's discomfort. Arthur shook his head in response, feeling a little too unfamiliar with the other to yet enter his home. Plus, the other was just doing it out of pity; it wasn't as if he actually wanted to be hospitable. There was always that awkward tension between the two.

"Ah, no, I'm just gonna go home…," Arthur mumbled in response, shrugging his shoulders slightly the blood quickly rushing through his body as a slight pink tint marked the tip of his nose and his cheeks. Francis appealed to that look, definitely. "I don't want to bother you, you seem busy."

"Let me procrastinate then," the other said, stepping aside as if indicating for the other to come in. Arthur felt warm on the inside at this, yet there was still that unsureness between the two.

"Thanks," he muttered, walking inside and allowing the sudden hit of warmth to hit his cold body, mostly his bare legs and face. After taking a moment to indulge in the wonderful feeling, he hadn't even realised Francis leave his side to instead go to the kitchen. That's when the Englishman took the opportunity to look around.

Their apartments looked so much different to the other. Francis' seemed delicate and rich, with beautiful paintings hanging up on the wall and neat… everything, except for the few boxes on the floor that was still yet to be unpacked, that is. But the place even smelt nice. It smelt of flowers, like he was burning incense. It was such a pretty place that Arthur felt extremely out of his place. His apartment was dark. It wasn't messy, but it was more… well, less 'rich'. Not everything was straight and expensive. He even had a few erotic posters – of girls and guys – just hanging up. There were often cigarette trays in every place he'd chill out at: the kitchen, his bedroom, the balcony, the lounge room, the study room… The same went to alcohol, in some ways. It would be dire if he ever had a kid in his apartment.

"Do you drink wine, Arthur?" Francis called from the kitchen, in which the blond soon began to follow the voice. He found the Frenchman there, with two of those posh wine glasses, and a bottle of Tawny Port in his hands. A Portuguese fortified wine. Very unique in its ways generally produced from French varieties including Shiraz, Grenache, Mourvèdre and Cabernet Sauvignon. How did Arthur know that? He liked wine, just didn't have it occasionally.

"Oui," he said, smirking, and Francis turned his gaze towards him to return that smirk, before pouring the red, alcoholic beverage into the wine glasses. Gesturing Arthur to come closer, the Englishman took it, before Francis picked up his own glass, alongside the bottle, and made his way into the lounge room – the other blond following. That's when the two made themselves comfortable upon the sofa, in which Francis' took the remote to his stereo and turned the volume down a little. Thank God.

"You know, I thought you were a dick," Francis said, quite bluntly too, before he took a sip of his wine. Arthur almost spat out his, but managed to down it. "Although… I still have a feeling you are."

"I could say the same to you, frog," Arthur replied, the alcohol in the wine warming up his inside and leaving a nice feeling. Francis laughed at this, and suddenly the Englishman felt like he was blushing – it was sort of embarrassing.

"I'm an asshole, yes," the Frenchman admitted, yet he seemed almost proud of the fact. Or maybe he just didn't see it as a fault needed to be fixed. That's usually when there isn't a fault, Arthur learnt. "But my charm makes up for that, monsieur."

"Your charm?"

"Oui."

"You're not charming at all," Arthur rebutted. "Piercings and tattoos and smoking are charming, not you and your feminine agenda."

"Piercings and tattoos _aren't_ charming, you mean."

"We're too much of opposites to even communicate without having differences."

"And yet here we are in my living room, having a drink together," Francis said, Arthur shaking his head as if he was annoyed. He was, in a way. He was annoyed that Francis was right. They were strangers and yet here they were. Arthur honestly didn't want to stay long. How could he let himself be persuaded into coming into enemy territory?

"You know, they say opposites attract," Francis then continued, finishing off the rest of his glass, before pouring another. Arthur, although screaming at himself not to, offered the other his glass for a refill as well. "That means something."

"It means jack shit, Casanova," Arthur laughed, retrieving his glass once more to take another sip. "The only reason I'm here is because you convinced me to come inside."

"And, if you truly hated being here, you'd leave."

"Don't act like you can read me."

"People are easy to read."

"I bet you're just trying to get into my pants. If it were some disgusting old man living next door, you wouldn't be so hospitable."

Francis shrugged, before replying, "You're… correct, in some ways. See? People are easy to read."

"I thought you didn't like tattoos and piercings, _monsieur._"

"Or maybe I just like getting to '_know'_ my neighbours."

"You're a slut," Arthur said, not very rudely and offensively however, as he laughed. The drink was getting to him. "I bet you've slept with heaps of people."

"Slut-shaming, are we?"

"No need to be ashamed of one's sexuality."

"So you're the same then?"

"Hm… maybe. I like cute boys and girls, though. And you know what's cute? Tattoos."

"You're persistent."

"Aren't I?"

The two said like that for the night – heaped up on the sofa, sipping away at the wine, as they talked and laughed and sometimes argued, just getting to know each other. But… it was the drink talking for them. When Arthur had awoken the next morning with a splitting headache, he was furious with Francis. He may have had a 'good' night, but that was a fluke to him. He had to deal with the day with a bloody hangover, and he felt like there was no one else to blame.

The fucking frog was already ruining his life.

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><p><strong>AN: It's very early in the morning so I apologise if this chapter was badly done. I'll try ot make the others much much much better though, okay? It's a promise. c:**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Review?**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'll be replying to some reviews each update in the Author's Note. So skip this, if you'd like. c:**

**To LadyKlamydia: Oh my God! I read this review and just thought SHIT. I was planning on doing that in the end, but maybe I'll do something less predictable instead. xD**

**To HidekazNo.1: Thanks! I find it so hard to keep characters in character most of the time, but to give them a twist? AHHH, I'M TRYING. I'm so glad you're satisfied with my punk Arthur though! **

**And a huge thanks to everyone else! I love reading your reviews because they're just so uplifting. :3 Anyways, now that's over and done with, enjoy the next chapter!**

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><p>"Fucking hell…," Arthur moaned with great distraught. His was head so heavy he almost believed someone had placed rocks in there overnight. Behind his eyes hurt and the light didn't help one bit – nope, just made it harder to keep them open. He was hungry but he didn't have the energy or time to eat. All he wanted to do was lie down in the comfort of his own bed with his blankets covering him so that he could just relax in quiet, darkness… and maybe order some pizza.<p>

But, that was impossible. He had a shop to run – his tattoo parlour.

He didn't work alone. During the week, from Monday to Thursday, he did. That was only because he received few customers as most people are away at their own jobs. Only on Friday nights, Saturday and Sunday did he actually have co-workers. They were… babies - babies as in college students; babies as in, students younger than him. Not to forget quite immature, too.

Their names were Alfred F. Jones and Matthew Williams.

Arthur could have _sworn_ they were twins, disregarding their personalities of course. Matthew was a French-Canadian; he spoke both English and French very fluently. Often he'd mutter profanity in French beneath his breath whenever Alfred pissed him off…

Alfred was from America. He was loud and annoying and he pissed a lot of people off all the time. _Especially Arthur._ But, even so, the Englishman had gained a liking for both of them. Plus, they were good with their work, even though they only worked part-time and they weren't actually proper tattoo artists. They were just trainees – but whilst Arthur was in charge of the inking, these two would often draw up designs and generally clean up. They were _huge_ helps.

It was too bad they couldn't be around often… and that they actually won't be around forever. That's the beauty of university – there were options to go studying abroad, and so it seemed Matthew and Alfred had taken that opportunity. Arthur kept on wondering why they chose England, though; it was practically raining all the time.

As his thoughts were gathered once more, Arthur looked down at the woman's naked back before him. He had been sitting here for about 2 hours, inking a large tattoo into her back. It was a dead tree that made its way up her body, but at the end of the branches, flowers bloomed. If it was plain, he would have taken an hour tops, but everything about this design was so intricate and delicate, not to mention the different shades of _black_, he was here for quite a while. However, he eventually got it done.

"Done," he said softly, the woman lying on the bench waking up – she hadn't seriously fallen asleep, just got stuck in some serious daydream. She seemed to be the type of person not to strike up conversations. "Let me just clean it up and have you check it out."

"Sure," she said, stretching her arms out in front of her, Arthur having to dismiss her boobs being shown off so carelessly as he cleaned up the extra ink on her back and what-not. After he put his tools away, he stood up, almost falling over instantaneously for having been sitting down so long, before he walked over to the full view mirror in which the lady followed, holding her shirt to cover her endowments.

"Oh, oh my god…," she whispered to herself, before looking at Alfred excitedly. "It looks perfect, thank you so much! You're amazing!"

Arthur smiled in response before the lady dressed herself and proceeded to the front counter, where Matthew was currently stationed, to pay. The Englishman took the initiative to stretch his shoulder muscles out, but his peace was interrupted when Alfred came rushing towards him.

"Yo, Iggy, you're finally done! How long did that take?" the American asked, sending waves of thumping pain through Arthur's head. "I think it was 2 hours. No, maybe 3. I don't know, I was going over the designs—"

"Just… _shut up_, for a moment, Alfred. _Please_," Arthur said sternly, his hands moving up to rub the sides of his forehead. That's when he moved himself to sit at the waiting area of his tattoo parlour, and Alfred said beside him. Matthew was only a few feet away at the counter, probably forging the lodges.

"Are… are you o-okay, Arthur?" Matthew's soft voice carried along. He stopped writing for a moment, just to look at the Englishman who was feeling like complete shit. "Do you need to rest?"

Thank God his voice was so angelic and soft. It seemed to be doing well for Arthur's migraine. _Fucking Francis caused this. _

"Nah, he's okay! I bet he's just sore from being hunched over that customer! Do you need a massage? I'll give you a massage!" Alfred exclaimed loudly, and Arthur lifted his head just to glare daggers at the other male.

"A massage…? Oh! Arthur, my brother used to work in beauty health and all of that stuff. I'm sure he can give you one and help you relax—"

"I'm _fine,_" Arthur cut in, leaning back in his seat so he could roll his head back and stare up at the ceiling. However, his hazel eyes eventually did drift close. "I just have a hangover."

"You went drinking?"

"It's _not _illegal," he replied sarcastically, but then suddenly felt bad for talking to Matthew like that. "Uh… well, yeah… it was stupid. I knew I shouldn't have but I did."

"So why are you working? You can just close for the day—"

"I can't. I literally can't. You've seen the orders. I have too many people lining up for a tattoo," Arthur almost whined, opening his eyes once more so he could lean forward and stare at his hands in his lap. "If I take a day off, that means more work."

No one replied to that. Matthew just silently went back to work, before Alfred got up from his spot, went out to the back, and got Arthur a cold bottle of water.

"Remember to drink water then," Alfred said, before flashing that stupid smile of his. Arthur had to admit, whilst on the outside he acted as if he hated him, on the inside he definitely was fond of him. And, so, he eventually did mutter a thanks, before Matthew addressed him once more when Alfred returned to doing what he was doing before Arthur finished tattooing that girl, "Um, Arthur, I've rearranged the appointments. You have only one small job to do today, and then you can take the day off. I think maybe you should go rest."

"Really?" he asked, a little shocked that even despite being told so, Matthew did change the appointments to suit Arthur's situation. The Englishman felt like he was _dying_ here. "Thanks. I… appreciate that, thanks Mattie."

Matthew smiled gently in return. He was so nice. Well, yeah, he _was_ Canadian… but even for a Canadian, he was so nice.

So that's practically how Arthur spent the rest of his work hours: simply doing his next job whilst the other two cleaned up and put stuff away. A few hours later and they found themselves in an empty shop. As Alfred bid farewell, whilst half-whining about the amount of studying he has to do when he gets home, Matthew insisted on helping Arthur with his hangover.

"No, it's okay Matthew, I'll just sleep on it."

"It's only 3 in the afternoon! If you sleep now, you'll wake up late in the night and won't be able to fall _back_ asleep. Let me take you to my brother and see if he has anything that'd help you out. He's really sweet!"

Arthur laughed the slightest, before locking the tattoo parlour behind him and finally giving in.

"Fine, if that's what you want."

"I just want you to feel better," Matthew replied, smiling certain innocence once more. _He was so damn cute. _"He's just next door, it won't be a problem!"

_Just next door? _

Arthur stayed silent as Matthew lead him down the street and, unfortunately, to Francis' fucking florist. What are the fucking chances of having Arthur's employee be _siblings_ with his new fucking neighbour?! The one he fucking hated right now?!

But Arthur didn't want to fight against going into the other's territory. That'd just upset Matthew, he thought.

"Francis! Francis, I need you for a second," Matthew called out, the sudden hit of flowery aroma hitting Arthur's nose. _The smell was strong indeed. _It was so… _girly. _

"Ah, Mathieu!" Francis called out, and Arthur watched as he turned around from what he was doing – writing, it seemed – to talk to Matthew excitedly once more, however his eyes quickly shifted to look at him instead. He looked taken back, like he choked on his words, like he was thinking, "Was Matthew with Arthur?" or "How did Matthew know this man?" Arthur was beginning to believe that Francis didn't even know where Matthew worked, if that was the case.

"He has a really bad hangover and I was hoping you might have something that'll help him relax? Like, scented candles maybe? Or… um… something, I don't know!"

Francis continued staring at him, and it was Arthur to break the eye contact and hunch his shoulders as he looked away. His hands were in the pockets of his coat, but his palms felt sweaty. This was awkward. He just seemed needy, now.

Eventually, Francis finally refocused his attention on his… brother.

"Well, has he taken any pain killers?"

"Yeah. This was earlier, though."

"All I can suggest is to such drink stuff with high sugar, then. Like… juice. And not to eat any fatty foods, just to rebalance his nutrients. If it helps, he could take some Vitamin B tablets. I have some spare ones—"

"Does tea count as something to drink?" Arthur asked, cutting in. He didn't really drink juice; he was more of a tea person. May it be a stereotype or not, his love for it would never change.

"If it's honey and lemon," Francis replied, shifting his gaze to the other. Arthur was also looking at him again, but he just felt… weird. "Otherwise, just have some coffee instead."

A beeping sound occurred, and soon frantic noises from Matthew sounded, before he took his phone out of his pocket and checked it.

"Oh, shoot!" he… cursed? Arthur didn't know if that was the correct term. "Um, hey, I have to go. My friends and a few others doing the same degree as me are doing a group study. I probably shouldn't miss this—"

"That's okay, Mathieu," Francis said, his accent really emphasising the "Matthew". "You go; I'll take care of your lovely friend here."

"Vraiment? Merci beaucoup!" Matthew exclaimed, rushing forward to give his brother a quick hug over the counter, before rushing out pass Arthur with a quick bye. With that, then there were two.

"You fucking wish, mate—" Arthur began, but was quickly cut off by Francis, "Oh? Why won't you let me help you? You didn't seem so reluctant before—"

"That's because I don't need your help, frog."

"To have Matthew drag you here, I think you do."

"I just came because he was persistent."

"Ah, but what fate? For the gorgeous Arthur to step foot inside of my shop?"

Arthur glared, shaking his head.

"Don't," he snapped. "Just don't. You caused this, this is _your_ fault."

"I do not have control over a high power, Arthur—"

"I mean with my hangover! You let me get drunk!"

"You're an adult, you made that decision yourself," Francis replied, smirking his little sinister smirk. Arthur had to admit, the other blond definitely was cute. But he was just… not cute, in a way, too. His cockiness and confidence was a turn on, but it was a turn off as well. It was like Arthur was sexually frustrated here, but he wasn't. He was just frustrated with Francis.

"Why'd you let me drink so much?!"

"You wanted to."

"Ugh, just forget it," Arthur finally gave up, turning around on his heel. He started making his way towards the door so he could just go home already, but Francis pursued and grabbed him by the wrist, turning him back around to face him.

At first, Arthur freaked out on the inside. He never had someone grab him so boldly before, so he didn't know _what_ to do. He just blushed a deep red in colour – not from being flustered, but from being angry.

"Let go of me you fucking creep!" he shouted, pulling his arm away from Francis' grasp. The Frenchman let him go, looking as if he was about to _laugh. _"What is _wrong _with you?! You can't just grab strangers! I barely know you! This is fucking England!"

"You keep yelling and you're going to make your hangover worse."

"_You're_ making it worse!"

"I can make it better, though," Francis replied, hooking a tangent of his long locks of hair behind his ear. "Or at least… do something to help it."

"So, what? You want to take care of me?"

"If it's to your consent."

Arthur paused for a moment. That… didn't seem too bad, actually. Sure, he didn't really have a liking towards Francis, but Francis seemed to know what he was talking about when it came to dealing with hangovers. Did he have one right now or is he just coping very well?

At the same time, the Englishman just wanted to say yes and give in, but he also wanted to say no and slam the door behind him in a completely and utterly childish way. But then that'd mean being alone to deal with his _fucking_ migraine. If… if it was Francis' fault he has one, then maybe it's Francis' responsibility to make it him feel better.

If put like that, then Arthur actually felt compliant.

"Well?" Francis asked. Suddenly, Arthur felt like the other had some other motive then to just 'look after' him. The Frenchman did admit about wanting to get into his pants. Even if that was the case, Arthur would do everything in his power to prevent that.

"…fine," he finally replied. "Just… I don't want to say for long… I mean, I have work to do, so…"

"I'll have you feeling good in no time."

Suddenly, Arthur felt like this was a mistake. He didn't even _know_ Francis.

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><p><strong>AN: So, as to not confuse the heck out of everyone, Matthew and Francis are related (in this fic) but not Matthew and Alfred. Also, Arthur isn't related to Alfred – he's related to the other UK countries instead (I don't know their fan human names, so suggest some if I decide to add them maybe?). Alfred is lone wolf I guess. -3- **

**So yeah, just trying to eliminate any awkwardness. :-)**

**Reviews, whether it be constructive or not, are always welcome. **Thanks for reading!****


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I'd like to especially thank LeonaJay for giving me the most popular human names for the rest of the UK countries. That _really_ helped me out! ^^ **

**And also thank you everyone for the reviews - even just following and/or favouriting. I didn't think this story would be really good seeing as I had NO idea what I'd do with it, but people are liking it, so that's good enough for me!**

**Anyways, enjoy~**

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><p>He felt so… good. His toes would curl in pleasure and his back would arch the slightest as he leant in for more of the other man's touch. His throat was sore from holding back all the short gasps and quiet moans and his forehead was wet with sweat; cheeks dark in colour.<p>

"How does it feel?" Francis asked, and Arthur was almost too lost in this euphoric sensation that he almost didn't register those words. He eventually did, however, and with his head hung and his stomach flat against the bed, the folds of his pink lips parted as he spoke, "…good."

"You're so tight," the other male quickly said, and his hands soon ran over a spot that Arthur bit down on his bottom lip in response, refusing to allow the gentle moan to leave his lungs. "You need to loosen up a little…"

"I… I can't…," Arthur responded. There was weakness in his voice as if he were truly unable to. "Just… ngh... you're so good…"

Francis smirked. Arthur couldn't see that, but he just _knew_ the Frenchman was smirking. He was the type that'd accept any and all praise, and probably be depressed when given criticism. Arthur, on the other hand, accepted neither praise nor criticism: he was boastful and praised himself, but… he was mean to himself, too.

"I'm an expert, monsieur," Francis whispered, and his husky voice seemed to be deeper and… _darker._ But, Arthur couldn't think straight at this point. He felt like the other was teasing him. _He was going slowly, _but he was going hard enough to make him want to _beg_ for more. Arthur's pride was no more at this point.

"_Faster," _Arthur moaned. "Francis, _please—"_

"Non, do not rush me," the Frenchman cut him off, running his hands down Arthur's back in a circular motion. "Muscles are like elastic bands. If I make them loose now, they'd only tense back up in a span of a few hours. It'd be best to work on them slowly each day until there's no more tension in your back and shoulders."

Arthur's eyes snapped open. _Oh shit. _

The Englishman rolled over; Francis' having withdrawn his hands, and moved to sit up in the other's bed. He was shirtless. He was red. He probably looked so _damn weak_.

"This was a mistake. I-I'm sorry—"

"Mistake?" Francis asked, tilting his head to the side the slightest. He sat at the edge of his bed, one hand down upon the surface as he leant over Arthur's legs. "How so?"

"I… just, I uh…," Arthur stammered, before he suddenly frowned in a defensive manner. "Where's my shirt? I want to go home."

Francis leant down by his feet – Arthur had tossed his shirt there when he took it off for the massage – and picked it up, handing it back to the blond. The Englishman gladly took it, before proceeding to put it on. However, just as he put an arm through the sleeve hole, Francis moved himself to push the other down and straddle his hips instead, stopping him in his tracks.

"What are you—?"

"You know, you're always so tense."

"That's because I have a schedule, _frog_, now get off me!"

"Being too stressed can cause abominable pain... _just saying._"

When thinking about it, Arthur hadn't been feeling too great these last few days. He was just… sore, all the time. However, he didn't want to believe that was the cause of his 'stress levels'. He found it easier just to blame it on Francis. Plus, he still did have a hangover, even though the other male helped out a lot with that.

"You're the one stressing me out, you bloody wanker!"

"Why? Think I'm going to attack you?"

"Well, why _wouldn't_ I think that when you're on top of me?"

Francis didn't reply just yet. Instead, his blue… almost dreamy eyes scanned Arthurs' face, and the Englishman soon began to feel really small, like he didn't matter anymore. Or, at least, he wished he didn't matter. Eventually, the other blond spoke up once more, "You haven't had sex in ages, have you?"

Arthur choked, "What—?"

"I can help you with that."

"W-What the fuck Francis?!"

Francis smirked. _That little fucker just fucking smirked. _So whilst Arthur's frown deepened as if he were seriously ready to murder him, the Frenchman moved his hand to cup the other's cheek. His eyes went half-lidded, and he ran his thumb over the other blond's lips.

"Ouch!" he half-yelled, withdrawing his hand quickly when the man beneath him had _bit_ him. Blood was beginning to drip down his hand. "You're… _feisty. Mon Dieu." _

"I will fucking stab you," Arthur snapped – not yelling, not screaming; just calmly in a voice that beckoned 'pissed off'. However, before Francis could actually form words in response, he was forcibly rolled over so that Arthur was on top now. The Englishman threw his shirt behind him, remaining shirtless, as he looked down at Francis with such dominance. "You underestimate me too much if you seriously think you can just fuck me without a fight in your own fucking bedroom. _I_ do the fucking. But guess what? I don't fuck acquaintances or _brothers_ of my employees."

"Ah, but wouldn't that be fun, Arthur? A secret romance. Matthew will ask where you where you've gotten those hickeys and love bites and scratch marks and you'll have to make up some story because you can't tell him you have casual sex with his _brother._"

"No, I won't have to make up some story because you and I are _not_ having sex."

"I can't force you," Francis obliged, shrugging his shoulders a little as he moved his hands behind his head, using them as extra comfort – like another pillow. "But I'm telling you now: you'll be missing out."

Arthur was the one to smirk this time around.

"Missing out on _what?_"

"You'll just have to find out now, won't you?"

Arthur drew his legs together, so that his knees touched Francis' side, before separating them once more so he sat more fully upon the other's groin. He noticed the other biting down on his bottom lip momentarily, as if he were anticipating this to turn into something more – _sex. _He wasn't really so subtle about wanting to get into Arthur's pants anyways, so of course he'd react to every little thing the Englishman does.

"Don't get cocky," Arthur eventually replied. He was saying that, but he found cockiness to be so attractive in a way that it was so irritating to him. Like, he found it annoying; it annoyed him... but the kind of expression and body language Francis shows off that comes with said cockiness – that self-satisfied attitude, those smug comments, the eye rolling… _the smirking_.

The "come and get me," hand gestures whenever Arthur was yelling at him; the eyebrow rising with an air of superiority… Arthur just wanted to say fuck you. He was annoyed right now; so annoyed right now. But, _fuck… _he was also so very, very _attracted _to Francis.

It fucking _killed_ him because he _hated_ the other man.

"I'm not being cocky," Francis whispered, tilting his head back a little. However, he soon sat up when Arthur moved himself to unmount the other, standing up and finally putting his shirt back on. "Oh? What? Changed your mind?"

"I never said I'd sleep with you," Arthur replied, pulling down the hem of his shirt so that it finally covered his body. He rolled the sleeves of his sweater up a little, just so his forearms were exposed.

"No, but you were being awfully suggestive back there," the Frenchman implied. His voice was doing that… husky, sexy, bedroom tone again. Maybe it was a French thing. If so, Arthur found French people to be one of the most _attractive _people – also the most annoying.

"You're not my type," Arthur said quite bluntly as he headed towards the door, so he could find his way out of Francis' apartment and go home. It was too early to sleep, so maybe he'd watch some… Sherlock or something. Maybe catch up on Game of Thrones. However, he soon stopped at the threshold and turned to look back at Francis, breaking from that 'cool' attitude he had on earlier. "And I'm not your type, so stop trying to—"

"Who said you weren't my type?"

"You said it yourself: you don't like tattoos. Have you _seen_ my body?"

"I'd like to see you naked."

"Then you'd see all the 'disgusting' tattoos I've gotten over the years."

Francis shrugged, not really affected by the other's argument, "That doesn't stop me from being attracted towards you."

"What will?"

"Hm… I don't know. Maybe if you turned into some kind of animal, I'd be turned off."

"I'll look into doing that then."

Francis laughed, although Arthur didn't really mean it as a joke – but hearing the other's joyous laugh caused the Englishman himself to smile a little. However, his smile soon faded away when Francis stopped laughing to set his alluring gaze upon him once more.

"What will it take to gain access to your chambers, oh wondrous mistress?"

Arthur frowned, as if not pleased with being called 'mistress'. He knew it was just a joke, but he acted as if he were offended, although…. Francis probably saw right through him.

"Maybe you can start by _not_ calling me mistress," the short-haired blond replied, as he began to lean against the bedroom door frame, "…and, instead, take me out for dinner sometime."

"Dinner?"

"Yes, dinner, have you ever been on a date?"

"I have, it's just—… I'm surprised at you," Francis began, and Arthur cocked his head to side as if asking 'how so?'. "I didn't think a _punk_ like you was so old-fashioned."

"Maybe I just want free food. I don't know," Arthur replied, shrugging, and earning some more laughter from the other. But, he soon began to talk seriously about this, as… well, he didn't really 'like' Francis – still kind of hated him, in fact. But if the other was so persistent about this, he might as well work for it, right? Arthur didn't like to be looked at as if he was a sex object. He was the one that broke hearts. But… Francis was different than to all the other boys and girls he's taken a 'liking' to. _Completely different: _looks and personality wise. "Look, if you don't want to—"

Francis shot up in his bed eagerly and cut the other off, "No, I want to. But, uh… tomorrow night?"

Arthur soon began to feel self-conscious. He didn't regret saying anything, he was just… nervous, he guessed. What should he wear? Where would Francis take him? Fancy or not fancy? _Jesus Christ…_

"Yeah…," he whispered, the blood in his veins rushing to his cheeks as the pale of his flesh flushed a rose-pink in colour, "Around 7 o'clock. Don't… don't be late, _frog._"

Without allowing anymore dialogue to happen between the two, Arthur quickly turned on his heels and exited, closing the door behind him, before making his way out of the other's apartment the way he came in. Throughout his walk back home, he hugged himself, feeling quite… small.

It was a sign of inferiority, in a way. Or maybe it was excitement – he was keen for this little 'date' of theirs. _Shit._ It really was a date; Arthur implied the fact. That… made him even more of a nervous wreck. He didn't go on dates. In the past, he was all about just having one night stands and waking up the next morning in a stranger's bed – a stranger he didn't even remember the name to. But… in a way, he's past that. Ever since opening his tattoo parlour a couple of days ago, he's kind of settled down and focused on his business. His portfolio was filled with his best works and he was kind of a mini celebrity. Francis was right; he hadn't had sex in quite a while.

But… he wasn't really looking for sex. _If _their date led to casual sex with Francis, then he guessed he wouldn't mind. It was like a… friends with benefit thing, again, he guessed – even if he didn't consider them two to be friends. If it led to something else – say, something more _romantic_ – then he wouldn't have minded that, too. But, in saying that, he didn't necessarily _desire_ romance with Francis, he just desired… affection. If Francis were to be the one to give him that, then so be it. _He had a feeling and sense of doubt that it wouldn't be Francis seeing as they were completely incompatible, _but… there was the chance.

When Arthur arrived at the front door of his apartment, his headache seemed to have worsened. It would have been to all of his stupid, 'girly' thoughts. He really ought to just… do some work and heat up some pasta and then go to bed.

He was still kind of exhausted.

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><p><strong>AN: As always, thanks for reading and following. ;o; **

**Review?**


	5. Chapter 5

"Done, then?"

Alfred nodded, before slinging his bag over his shoulder and exiting the tattoo parlour to join Matthew outside, Arthur soon following and locking his store up. As soon as he turned around to face the two, however, he couldn't help but notice the Canadian's… cheery facial expression, like he was excited. But he looked right at Arthur, as if anticipating something.

"Wha—?" Arthur began, but was soon cut off by the usually quiet male, "I heard about you and Francis! That quick, huh? I guess his charms—"

The Canadian was cut off with, "Wait, what?"

"Uhh… you have a date tonight?"

Arthur's heart dropped. Shit. After worrying about it so much last night, he had actually forgotten he did, in fact, have a date with Francis tonight. That's what work did to you: made you forget petty shit like dates. How embarrassing – he was the one who called for this date and forgot all about it.

That's… when the nerves began to set in, too.

"Arthur's gay?" Alfred then asked, the Brit responding by slugging him in the shoulder and telling him to mind his own business, as he continued with, "I'm not gay. I just like… boys. Plus, it's just dinner, n-nothing… uh, serious."

"Uh… if you think that a boy liking other boys isn't gay, then I have news for you—"

"Shut the fuck up," Arthur cursed, slugging Alfred in the shoulder once more, as the American retaliated with laughter. "I can like boys without being gay!"

"Hmm, so you're bi?"

"Pan," the Englishman mumbled.

"Pan?"

"In other words, I can reach my hands down someone's pants and be satisfied with whatever I find."

"Arthur!" Matthew exclaimed loudly, as if appalled with such… 'indecent' talk. However, with a faint blush to his pale cheeks, the Canadian eventually did let out a giggle of amusement. "Don't describe pansexuality like that!"

Arthur shrugged, replying, "Easiest way to explain it though."

"I don't disagree with you there," Matthew said, and when he smiled, Arthur felt… weird on the inside. His stomach dropped and his heart began to pick up. It's just that… he looked so much like Francis. If he had fine hairs protruding from his jaw line, didn't wear glasses, tied his hair back, then, shit… he'd literally be an exact look-alike. It was… unsettling. Unfortunately, Alfred noticed his anxiety.

"Oh come on; you can't be nervous, Arthur! You're, like, the most… un-nervous person I know."

"What do you mean?!"

"Since when have you been shy?"

Arthur blushed deep red in colour. Was that a compliment? To answer Alfred's question: He's shy… a lot of the time, but when he's shy, he's… defensive. Tsundere, as his brothers would describe him. It was a… Japanese thing. Bloody nerds needed to stop watching anime or whatever it's called.

"Just—sh-shut up and go home, Jesus," Arthur replied, deciding not to allow Alfred indulge in the satisfaction of getting him all hot and bothered. The smartass lived off making his life a living hell. Thank God Matthew existed – he was an angel.

"Yes, Alfred, you have exams coming up, don't you?" Matthew then asked, the American sighing grief as he realised he did. That's when the two walked off after a quick "bye" and some more teasing from Alfred, of course. Arthur was soon left in the street, watching his employees disappear down the street.

It started trickling then. That's also when he started to curse profanity beneath his breath and make his way outback to head upstairs and to his apartment. When he entered his home, he quickly checked the time only to realise it was 6:34pm. He had16 minutes to get ready, before Francis came. Shit, shit, shit. What was he even supposed to wear?!

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><p>Francis sat on the sofa of his living room, his head in his hands. He hadn't been out on a date like this in quite a while. Like, an actual date: picking up the other at 7pm, going out to eat dinner, getting to know each other, maybe take a stroll at the strand, followed by watching a late night movie… In France, the blond bimbo was practically a player. Then, shit hit the fan with an old partner, and he just… wanted to get away from it all. It wasn't like he had been in England for long, though. He lived in London for quite a while – about a month. He felt out of place, though. So, he decided to move closer to where his brother was staying that and run a store to kill some time, also, when he wasn't painting and selling his work. He thought it'd be a quiet life. Arthur wasn't quiet, though. He was so different to what Francis was used to. The Frenchman was used to fancy balls, overdressed boys and girls, polite manners, everything… rich. He was used to expensive drapes on the walls, the dear smell of cologne, exorbitantly priced meals. Arthur didn't seem like the sort of guy that'd be comfortable wearing a waistcoat and sipping at red wine. So, perhaps Francis should not be so… eloquent.<p>

He stood up, beginning to remove the suit jacket he was wearing – the one that made him look oh so dashing – as he walked to his bedroom to dress himself in something less formal. He decided he'd do something different, for Arthur's sake. They'd go to a cosy café, instead of a posh restaurant. They'd go eat ice cream and take a walk in the park, rather than spending their time doing something fancy. Hopefully that'd make Arthur comfortable, right? Plus, Francis was kind of desiring change… Well, maybe not exactly change – as his change in preference didn't seem to be budging at all – but there's no harm in exploring a new side of things; just a small taste.

He laughed a little, when he had pulled his dress pants off and searched for some old jeans instead. It was kind of like… good gone bad; pop goes punk - Francis wasn't really 'pop' but he decided it sounded silly calling himself 'classic' – and the sort. Oh, and neither was he 'good', but Arthur did seem bad… He seemed a bad boy, and that in itself, was interesting.

This whole time he had found the whole 'punk' and 'tattoos' and 'piercings' shit to be undesirable, as he had always had a preference for a tidy look. However, when he met Arthur, it appeared as though fate was determined that he broadened his horizons... Either that or the punks of the world had formed some sort of scheme to be good-looking all of a sudden. It wasn't as if Francis was bothered by that, though, especially when someone like Arthur Kirkland had shown up at his doorstep one night.

Francis didn't come to England looking for love; he came here to escape the painful nature of it. However, there was one quote he read from a book that he did live by, "Why have one bonbon, when you can have the whole box?" And it spoke to him, in a way. Tonight was just for fun – hopefully sex, too – no love. He needn't get himself caught up in some boy.

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><p>"I look like a fucking idiot…," Arthur murmured, turning his gaze from the full view mirror to the clock on the wall of his bedroom. 7:09pm. Francis should be here any minute now.<p>

The blond, deciding that he'd actually try to dress up, was wearing a pair of dress pants – relatively new, although he rarely wore them – and a sky blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. To top it off, he had a black vest on that made his waist look deliciously small and some plain, black dress shoes. He looked so… formal. That would please Francis, wouldn't it?

Since when do I dress up for someone? Arthur asked himself, although he didn't answer it when there was a knock at the door. That's when his heart dropped.

Quickly gathering his wallet, phone and house keys to shove into the pocket of his pants, the blond made his way through his house, making sure all appliances and lights are turned off after him, before soon opening the door to find… Francis, all dressed down.

There was an awkward silence between the two as their eyes glanced over each other's outfits. It's like they practically swapped clothes – although Arthur was less formal than Francis would usually be, and Francis wore less black than Arthur does. Still, it was… amusing. They both found it so.

"Oh my god," Arthur exclaimed, a hand reaching up to cover his mouth as he erupted in laughter, alongside Francis. For a minute or so, there was nothing but laughter from both males, as tears began to well at the Englishman's eyes. When they finally quieted down, however, Francis reached his hand out to cup the other's cheek, his thumb swiping away the tears that welled Arthur's eye.

"What are even the chances of this happening?" the Frenchman asked, pulling his hand away. He chuckled a bit, before Arthur had replied, "If you were thinking what I was thinking, then that's how."

"Dressing to suit the other?"

"Yep."

Francis laughed again, and that's when Arthur's green eyes stayed glued upon his face, mesmerized by such rare beauty. He was... a beautiful man. It only made him want to giggle loudly when he realised this exact beautiful man lusted after him; this beautiful man called him good-looking; this beautiful man was going on a date with him, not someone else. It was strange. It was all so strange, but Arthur didn't feel uncomfortable. He was... relieved, in a way. Maybe this night would change his views of Francis - hate him less. Negative energy is tiring to the mental health of people, and Arthur was exhausted. When was the last time he seriously felt like a school girl over some boy?

His nerves, although still there, were beaten by his feeling of excitement.

"Should I... Should I change?" Arthur asked, to break the somewhat awkwardness between the two. Francis shook his head, opening his mouth, before closing it - like a gaping fish - and allowing one last chuckle to pass his lips. When he stopped, however, he did speak up, "If you'd like. If I'm being honest, I like the way you look. You look... sophisticated. I find that _sexy."_

Arthur almost shuddered - almost - but he didn't fall for the 'dominant' alpha male horse shit. Instead, he took in a deep, shaky breath, before stepping back and widening the door to allow Francis to come in.

"Make yourself at home - I'm just going to be, like, 10 minutes," the Englishman said, closing the door behind Francis when the other walked in, before soon disappearing into his room. As he said, he only took about 10 minutes to change. However, he didn't wear something he'd usually wear when he decided he wanted to go out for Chinese. He wore something... tidy, but rebellious. Black skinny jeans - a new pair - plain boat shoes, and the dress shirt he was wearing before, minus the vest. To top it off, he pulled his hair back and put a black beanie on - the piercings of his face become more noticeable now that the hair was out of his face.

After spraying some more cologne, just to make sure he smelt nice - in case, you know, he and Francis get a little _flirty_ - he made his way back out of his room to find Francis seated in his lounge room, reading one of his magazines. Thank _god_ Arthur kept his more... erotic, magazines in his room. And, so, Francis was simply looking at other tattooists' work. Arthur used it as reference.

"I still don't get it," Francis mumbled, when he had heard Arthur's footsteps approaching him from behind.

"Hm?"

"Tattoos," the Frenchman recollected. "It's... strange."

"It's _art."_

Francis didn't reply. Instead, he set the magazine back down upon Arthur's coffee table, before standing up to greet him.

They were the same height. Francis seemed taller though... probably because of his boots. But their eyes met at an almost even level. That's what Arthur found strange - people. There was always so many painting and sculptures of the naked body; a flawless naked body. It was boring. What about scars? Tattoos? Piercings? Proof of life. He didn't know. He guessed that Francis and he was just on different ends of the spectrum - and so they'd probably never really understand each other. It was a pain in the ass.

But he didn't let that ruin anything.

"Let's go," he said, smiling the slightest, when he noticed the other's blue eyes scanning his face - looking at his piercings. "Where would you be taking me, _good sir?"_

That caught Francis' attention.

The Frenchman smirked in response, as his eyes became half-lidded - it was... _so damn sexy._

"It's a secret, monsieur," he replied, holding his arm out for Arthur to take. When the Englishman did, they began making their way towards the door. "You'll have to just wait and see."

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><strong>AN: Sorry that this took awhile to publish! I'm using a different laptop to write my stories now, and Microsoft Word doesn't work. n-n" So I have to write this shit online, which means I have to be _extra_ careful with grammatical errors, etc. **

**Anyways, the next chapter will most likely be revolved around their little date. Thanks for reading!**

**Review?**


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